


sooner or later

by cathedralhearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: Eric takes a little while to figure things out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been waxing poetic about this fic for about... two years??? Because Winnipeg Jets prospects are apparently _exactly_ my speed these days. I finally got my shit together and finished it  <3 
> 
> Primer for these losers located [here](http://cathedralhearts.tumblr.com/post/106223217537/chase-de-leo-eric-comrie-a-non-primer). I need to update it, it's almost three years old now... not much has happened tbh, but both Chase and Eric are playing for the Jets' AHL affiliate now, which explains why they're CONSTANTLY TOGETHER on Chase's Instagram Story feed ([cdeleo95](https://www.instagram.com/cdeleo95/) in case you're interested, which you totally should be). Back when I wrote this, multiple years ago, the St. John's Icecaps were the affiliate. It's now the Manitoba Moose, who are also based in Winnipeg. 
> 
> Thanks to Caitlyn for an amazing, inspired beta. And big love to Tori, Erica and Kay, who had to listen and be spammed with gifs and swearing about these dorks for a good six months way back in 2015 while I figured out where the hell I was going with this.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Now with podfic! The excellent ofjustimagine has recorded this and is linked below. Give it a listen, she's perf!

“Eric.”

Eric doesn’t stir. He’s nine-tenths of the way asleep and it’s going to stay that way, because it’s a Saturday and he’s fucking exhausted. He pushed himself too hard at training yesterday and everything aches. His aches have aches and he’s only nineteen, god.

At least he’s got more hockey to look forward to, regardless. He’ll probably be back with the Americans next season, still too inexperienced to play for the Jets, but if he’s lucky he’ll get sent to their farm team, the Ice Caps. Although the idea of spending a whole season in St. John’s is depressing as fuck-- given how remote St John’s is, in bumfuck Newfoundland, so far removed from everything he’s ever known.

“ _Eric_ ,” the voice comes again. Eric shifts under his duvet, fighting the urge to open his eyes. If it’s Ty, he’s going to pick up the nearest thing and lob it at his fucking stupid head. Eric’s already told everyone worth telling that he’s going to spend the weekend recovering -- that includes not being harassed by his brothers.

There’s a loud sigh and footsteps across his bedroom floor. Eric moans and curls in a ball preemptively, and sure enough someone launches on him _like an asshole_.

“What? Fuck off!” Eric whines, bringing up his hands to stop the pillow smacking him over the head. He inhales deep and well-- it’s definitely not Ty. He can smell clean skin, washing detergent and the cologne he’d bought as a present last October.

The present had a purpose, and as the the onslaught stops long enough for him to peer out from under the duvet, Chase is there, tanned and grinning like crazy.

“Hey,” Eric croaks, unable to stop the curl of warmth that goes through him seeing his best friend of almost a decade. Chase smiles wider and gets off Eric, lying down next to him in bed and shuffling onto his back. Eric groans and turns onto his front, yawning into his pillow.

“I’m back,” Chase says. No shit. Eric rolls his eyes.

“So I can see,” he mutters. Chase moves closer so they’re pressed together, Eric’s bare arm against Chase’s. It feels nice and Eric’s dick stirs in his boxers. The last thing he needs is wood around Chase, so he tries to move away, but Chase just moves with him.

“Still can’t believe we’re both at the Jets now,” Chase says idly, turning on his side and propping his elbow up, hand pressed against his face. Eric blinks blearily at him.

“It’s eight in the morning, on a Saturday, in the offseason. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Eric exclaims. Chase shrugs and reaches out to pat his arm.

“I got in a few hours ago from Philly and I wanted to see you.”

They’d been texting and Skyping non-stop over the draft and when Chase was selected by the Jets, Eric had almost fell off the couch. Shit like that almost _never_ happened, the whole ‘being reunited with the best friend’ thing. He still couldn’t believe it was happening, if he’s honest. He’s praying that they’re both sent to the Icecaps next season, just so they can be on the ice together. Being in St. John’s wouldn’t suck so bad -- hell, it wouldn’t suck _at all_ \-- if Chase was with him.

“You’re such a freak,” Eric sighs and Chase’s cheeks go pink.

“Fuck you. Fine, I’ll let you sleep,” Chase frowns, sitting up.

“No! Don’t be an asshole. I’m awake now,” Eric says, his arm snapping out to grab at Chase’s. Chase raises an eyebrow and Eric slugs him as best he can from the angle, his arms aching from all the pull ups yesterday. He laughs as Chase tries to roll him over and give him a noogie, tangling them both in the duvet and sheets.

“C’mon fatty, get up and shower. Your mom’s put on a huge breakfast and she won’t let me eat until you’re down there.”

“How big is big?” Eric says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes once Chase’s climbs off. Chase shrugs and starts opening drawers, throwing a pair of boxers and khaki shorts at Eric’s head.

“You’re not dressing me!” Eric yells as Chase heads into his walk in.

“Shut up and deal with it,” Chase yells back, before emerging from the wardrobe with a plain white v-neck and throwing that on the pile. “Hurry up. I’m gonna get Mike to distract her so I can steal a pancake,” he says as Eric clamours out of bed, holding his clothes in front of his dick. All the rubbing against Chase has gotten things awkward downstairs, and he’ll be damned if he risks one of the best things in his life because his dick can’t control itself.

“Mike’s here?” he says as he heads into his ensuite.

“Yeah, with Luca. Hilary’s got media stuff this weekend or something so he’s on daddy duty. Are they back together or what?” Chase asks, appearing in the doorway while Eric fiddles with the shower. Eric shrugs and shoos him out, shutting the door.

Out of all the things he talks to Mike about, his not-so estranged wife isn’t ever one of them. Chase usually knows more about what’s going on with Eric’s brothers than Eric does, which is… well. He’s given up trying to find a logical explanation for why he and Chase work so great together.

After he showers and changes into the clothes Chase definitely picked out for him -- controlling weirdo -- he stumbles downstairs and into the kitchen.

Luca’s sitting on Chase’s lap and they’re eating fruit together, Luca telling Chase the names while Mike cooks a batch of pancakes. His mom is finishing up what smells and sounds like bacon and eggs, the table loaded down with all sorts.

“Morning,” he calls out as he heads to the fridge for juice.

“Already on the table,” Chase says over the din of everyone greeting him back. Eric huffs out a sigh and sits down next to Chase, their limbs knocking together as Eric leans over to grab the orange juice and pour a glass.

“Hi Eric,” Luca chirps at him around a mouthful of apple. Eric smiles and leans over, taking his good morning kiss on the cheek. He glances up at Chase, who looks a little weird but smiles wide and asks Luca what the banana is.

Mike and his mom bring over the last of the food and serve it out.

“You good with Luca?” Mike asks around a mouthful of bacon and egg. Chase nods and jabs at his scrambled eggs with one hand.

“Oh, for--” Eric clucks, and leans over to cut his food up for him. Luca is laughing at Eric by the time he pulls back, and Chase elbows him with a fond smile.

“Thanks, loser,” Chase says as he gets the bacon and toast into his mouth, his other arm still around Luca, holding him steady in his lap.

“You’re welcome, assh-- uh,” Eric stops, coughing and blushing as Luca looks up at him. Chase just starts laughing.

“We’re so proud you two are both at the Jets now, aren’t we Mike?” his mom says as they settle down, Luca wanting more fruit in between.

“Yeah, it’ll be great if you can get on the farm team together next season. Get more time against the higher competition,” Mike says and Eric nods.

He doesn’t want to jinx it by vocalising what he wants, but he darts a look at Chase and sees the same look on his face -- apprehension, excitement and something like hope. They smile at each other and turn back to their food.

“So, what are you two up to today? No training this weekend?” his mom continues and Eric looks at Chase. He’d come over for a reason, Eric guesses, especially if he’d only just come back from Philly, so he shrugs and defers to the younger boy.

“Not sure, probably just hanging out. Haven’t seen this goofball for too long.” Chase is smiling way too hard for Eric to even think about chirping back, so he just smiles and finishes his breakfast. Luca hops down when Mike’s done, Mike talking about going to some toddler activity thing in Hollywood, so Eric and Chase clean the bigger dishes while Eric’s mom loads the dishwasher.

“You wanna stay over for dinner tonight? Dad’s doing a grill, my sister is bringing her boyfriend and I seriously don’t want to be alone,” Chase says. Eric’s stomach flips over at the connotation -- what, is he supposed to be like Chase’s boyfriend in this equation? But his nervousness takes over and he just focuses on scrubbing the plates and nods quickly.

“Y-yeah, sounds good.”

“Say hi to the De Leo’s for me, then. Make sure to find out when your parents are free this week and we’ll have you all over for dinner,” Eric’s mom says, before leaving to join Mike and Luca.

Chase hasn’t stopped smiling all morning, and Eric takes a beat to wonder if he’s got a girl or something. The entire time they’ve been best friends, Chase has always had girls after him while Eric hung back and focussed on hockey and school. Chase was the epitome of a Californian, all tanned planes of muscled skin and sun bleached blonde hair, everyone always wanting to be around him. Eric stayed pale, tall and skinny, preferring to spend his time on a rink or reading comics, his own smaller band of friends just perfect for him.

“You alright there, Mr. Smiley?” Eric asks, his hands buried in the soapy water, warm and comforting. Chase rolls his eyes but the smile won’t budge off his face.

“What, I can’t be happy?”

“Yeah, you can be happy but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you _this_ happy. Got a new girl or something?” Eric asks, trying to go for casual and probably missing by a mile. Chase just snorts.

“ _No_ , there’s no girl. Dude, I just got drafted by an NHL team with my best friend on it, and we’re going to end up playing in the show together. As if you’re not like, super stoked about that!” Chase says. Eric ducks his head and nods, laughing a little.

“Yeah, I’m really-- it’s really great, man.”

Chase turns back to drying and Eric gets lost in his thoughts again, sudsing up a frypan.

He’s fully aware that if he and Chase met now, they probably wouldn’t be friends like they are. They’re like chalk and cheese, or whatever that weird saying is that his grandpa uses, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been worried when they were drafted to separate WHL teams. He was worried that Chase had only stuck around for the goalie thing, feeling bad for him because he was more awkward and less popular. He’s great at hockey, and he’s secure in that, but when it comes to Chase… things get twisted and weird. What had been simple -- and what he was hoping the distance would sort out -- only served to really make Eric aware how much he liked Chase, _so_ much more than he should.

The last three seasons they’d spent Skyping and texting a disturbing amount, and Eric was glad he was making some decent bank and could afford his ridiculous phone bill. His billet family knew more about Chase than any guy on his team, and he’d rely on those moments -- the fact Chase usually initiated both the text chains and the calls -- to remind himself that Chase was here because he wanted it.

 _Fuck being nineteen_ , he huffs to himself. _I’m so insecure and it freaking sucks balls_.

“You sure you’re okay?” Chase asks, breaking Eric from his momentary self-loathing. Eric snaps up to see Chase leaning in, closer than he’d been expecting. Eric jerks back a little, flushing, and drains the sink.

“Uhm, yeah. I’m fine. So… you seeing Beau Bennett and the others today?” he asks. They were such a cliche, running in the same circles as the few other hockey players from California.

Chase frowns. “I, uh, thought we could spend the day together. Unless you’ve got other friends you like more than me,” he says. His face is doing that weird thing again, the one Eric doesn’t know how to deal with.

Eric’s about to say something dumb when his phone rings. “Hello?” he answers, not bothering to look at the caller ID, too busy staring at the floor. God, he’s such a goofball.

“Dude, where are you? We’re at the rink, c’mon man!” Ty whines down the line.

“What rink?” Eric says, confused. He knows he was pretty explicit about not doing shit this weekend. Obviously his younger brother ignored everything he said, as usual.

“Chase told me this morning he was gonna see you for breakfast and you guys would come to the rink for a skate. So hurry up, we’re all here and waiting!” Ty yells.

Eric looks at Chase, who’s moving around the kitchen and putting things away with a practised ease. He’s wearing his ridiculous cat tank top and khaki shorts, bare feet arching against the tile as he goes up on tiptoes to push the cups away. His ribs shift under his skin and Eric’s mouth goes dry as he looks at the whole package. He’s so goddamned pretty.

“Uh,” Eric says, and Chase looks over and busts him. He flushes, knows it’ll show up like the most obvious shit ever given how pale he still is.

“We’re supposed to be going to a rink with Ty?” he says. Chase’s smile is back and he nods.

“Yeah, thought you might wanna skate.”

Eric pulls a face. “Dude it’s too hot for me to put on goalie pads.” He loves his position and he loves hockey, but he loves the offseason and getting to train and sometimes even play without all his gear on. Chase looks guilty.

“Nevermind. We’ll be there in like, a half-hour. I need to grab my gear from the basement,” Eric says, hanging up on his brother.

“We don’t have to…” Chase trails off, following him down the stairs as he goes searching for his gear bag from the Americans. Eric shrugs and tosses it at Chase.

“Whatever man, let’s do this shit.”

Chase’s grin is worth it.

 *

It’s good to be on the ice again and his team wins 4-1, which pisses Eric off because he wanted that fucking shut out. Chase scores two so he’s on it, bouncing around the showers and whacking the guys with his towel. Eric’s soaping his hair and scrubbing under his arms when Chase leans over and snags his shampoo.

“I forgot to bring mine,” he says and winks, leaning over the other stall to smack Ty upside the head -- again -- for being a shitty d-man.

“I don’t even play d!” Ty howls, ducking from Chase as best he can. Eric just laughs and finishes up, towelling off and keeping his eyes firmly fixed forward so he doesn’t see anything.

He’s dressed by the time Chase is towelling off and parading around in his designer boxers, showing off his stupid abs. Eric prods mournfully at his own -- he’s slamming down protein shakes and eating more steak and chicken than he can stomach, but he can’t seem to keep the muscle on. He still looks like a stringbean and it’s so embarrassing.

“Benny’s having a party tonight, you good to go after dinner?” Chase says as they’re heading to the parking lot, gear bags and sticks slung over their shoulders. Eric shifts a little. Parties aren’t really his thing -- he likes drinking and girls are nice and all, but he hates most of the Top 40 shit from being blasted constantly during practices, games and gym sessions. He knows most of Chase’s friends -- they went to the same elementary, middle and high schools until they left, and is okay enough with them. He figures he’ll stay for a beer and then leave.

“Okay,” he says belatedly. Chase frowns.

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. We can stay in, play some NHL 14 or something--”

“It’s fine man, let’s do it. Haven’t drank anything for ages, been dry for the playoffs,” Eric forces himself to laugh. Chase shrugs and they head to In-And-Out for lunch, Ty bitching from the back seat about wanting an extra side of fries and Eric refusing to pay.

 *

Dinner with the De Leo’s is always hilarious -- slightly less crazy than what goes on in the Comrie household, but Chase’s parents are awesome, and his older sister takes any opportunity she can get to embarrass her little brother. Her boyfriend is on the wrestling team and Chase mimes gagging behind his back, making Eric choke on his drink.

Chase’s parents fuss on him like they’ve done every day since he was ten, when Chase insisted he come over for dinner after their first tryout together. If there’s one thing Eric can’t bring himself to do, it’s to say no to any of the De Leo’s.

“Look how skinny you are, don’t your billet family _feed_ you?” Chase’s mom sighs as she hugs him and then refuses to let go, pinching what little muscle he’s managed to put on. He squawks and tries to dodge from her but she’s like a pitbull and refuses to let go. “Chase, you didn’t tell me Eric was fading away! How could you let this happen?” she continues. Chase rolls his eyes and takes a drag from the only Bud Lite is parents are going to let him have.

“He’s not fading away, Mom, he’s fine. Leave him alone, you’re freaking him out.” Chase holds out a hand and Eric reaches for it, letting Chase tug him free. He stumbles a little and almost collides into him, blushing. Chase laughs and holds up an unopened beer for him.

“Nah. I’ll drive tonight so I can only drink at the party,” Eric says. Chase frowns and Chase’s sister appears with some juice, handing a cup over to him with a smile.

“So, Eric, a little birdie tells me you’re a bit of a player now in Kennewick. Who’s Stacey?” she teases. Eric scrubs a hand through his hair, recently cut for the summer.

“It’s nothing-- just a girl who’s friends with a few of the guys on the team.”

“You never told me about a Stacey,” Chase says.

“There wasn’t anything _to_ tell, so I didn’t bother.”

“That’s not what I heard. I _heard_ that you and her got it on a few times. Love ‘em and leave ‘em -- hey, Romeo?” Chase’s sister laughs. Eric’s goes bright red and he’s going to fucking _kill_ whatever asshole spread the news back home.

“Jesus,” he splutters and reaches for the beer beside Chase.

“No way,” Chase says and pushes it away, shoving Eric back with a well-placed elbow.

“We just hung out, it wasn’t a big deal. She’s really nice, but… she’s not what I’m looking for,” Eric mumbles, fiddling with the bottle. He’d felt like shit when he woke up next to her a few times, and had suffered through god awful morning afters before his billet brother came to get him each time.

Chase’s sister drapes an arm around him, pressing in close. “Sorry for busting your balls. I just want you to be happy! At least it’s the summer now and Chase can stop moping like an emo kid,” she says, reaching to pinch at Chase’s cheek. He smacks her hand off and glares.

“Go be a bitch somewhere else,” he says. She flips him the bird but lets go of Eric, drifting off to yell at her boyfriend for fucking up the steaks. Eric looks out the corner of his eye at Chase, who’s picking at his beer bottle, that frown back on his face.

“Why didn’t you-- I mean, uh. Not like you have to tell me, or anything, but I thought… y’know.” Chase’s voice cuts through the awkward tension between them, and Eric really, _really_ wants to be done with this already.

“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t a big deal. I’m sure you don’t tell me every time you fuck some girl at a party, eh? Don’t worry, I won’t catch up to your tally anytime soon, bud.” It’s a weak chirp and the frown doesn’t move off Chase’s face, and it’s only Chase’s mom announcing the food’s done that breaks them both from the uncomfortable moment.

She asks about Kennewick, as she’s done every summer since he signed, and Eric tells her the highlights while Chase’s dad asks after his hockey development.

“I’m kind of hoping I’ve done enough in juniors and they’ll bring me up to St. John’s. I got a lot of starts last season and I did pretty good,” Eric says around a mouthful of food. Chase laughs and pokes at his cheek, and Eric rolls his eyes but swallows before he continues.

“St. John? Where’s that, somewhere close?” Linda says.

“No, it’s way up north, on this small island off the east coast of Canada. It’s in Newfoundland,” Chase butts in.

“Newfoundland _and Labrador_ is the name of the province. Look up a map or something,” Eric says. Chase scoffs and waves his fork around -- details.

“Whatever. Point being, we’re totally both cracking that line up this season.”

“Oh yeah? Who says they’re not sending you back for a year to Portland?” Eric says.

Chase smirks. “No way I’m going back, now we’re on the same team. I’m gonna kick so much ass they’ll have to keep us together.”

“Uh huh,” Eric says, but can’t stop the thrill at Chase’s words. It would be so great if the Jets let them both play in the AHL this season. It’d be great for Eric’s skill level, and it’d be even better for Chase to get competition against bigger guys.

 *

They hang around for a while so Chase can change his shirt and poke at his hair. He’d gotten it cut a few days ago and was mourning losing the length to mess with, sighing loudly at his mirror. Eric crawls onto Chase’s bed and flops down face first. He inhales the smell, like a complete _freak_ , but it makes him smile so he stays there and listens to Chase move about his room. It sounds like he’s humming a Magic Bronson song, and Eric drums his fingers along to the beat.

He turns on his back and looks up at the ceiling, the poster of Kelly Slater surfing dominating most of the space above Chase’s bed. There’s a mix of hockey and half-naked models on the rest of Chase’s walls, but most of the model posters have been covered with countless pictures of Chase and his friends and family. The hockey ones have been left untouched.

Chase is half inside his closet, burrowing around for a particular white v-neck he _absolutely has to wear tonight_ , and Eric crosses his fingers behind his head. Chase’s room has always been kind of a sanctuary -- they live closer to the beach in a normal neighbourhood, not a gated community like Eric and his family. Their house is smaller, everyone’s on top of each other and Chase’s room is half the size of Eric’s, but Eric likes it twice as much. There’s bottles of half-drunk alcohol on top of Chase’s drawers, interspersed with trophies all over the place and clothes everywhere, thoughtlessly messy in the way teenage boys are. Eric’s room gets cleaned once a week by their maid. He knows his room would be worse than Chase’s, given half the chance.

“You’re quiet,” Chase says, emerging from the closet with a Dodgers snapback sitting askew on his head and a smudge of something on his face.

“Just thinking,” Eric says, his feet hanging off the end of Chase’s bed. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Chase grab at one of his duffles and start rooting around inside.

“About what?”

Eric shrugs and picks at the bedspread. He feels like he’s being enveloped by Chase’s smell and taste, so he lies back down to stare up at Kelly Slater, dripping and focussed on his goal to shred a half-pipe or whatever that shit means.

“How we probably wouldn’t be friends if we met today.”

Eric has _no_ idea why the hell he just said that, and the rustling stops almost immediately.

“What the fuck?” Chase says. Eric winces and waves a hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tries, but Chase is up on his feet and stands by his bed, hands on his hips. His hair is sticking up from the hat and Eric grins, involuntary by now. Years of being friends with Chase has made smiling so easy to come by.

“Why are you thinking about that? Did I… did I do something?” Chase says. He looks freaked out, so Eric reaches out and pokes Chase in the stomach, sending him stumbling back a foot or two from the bed.

“Of course not. I always think of dumb shit. It’s just funny, how different we are but we’re still good friends.”

“ _Best_ friends,” Chase says, but goes back to his duffle instead of coming to the bed. Eric gnaws on the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah, best friends.”

 

Chase keeps shooting him worried looks once he finds his magical v-neck and stashes a bottle of Stoli in his backpack.

“I’ll sneak the rest of the Bud from the fridge, you distract Mom,” Chase hisses as they’re coming downstairs, night having since fallen while they were in his room.

“No shit,” Eric says and pushes his way into the kitchen, asking Chase’s mom to show him how to work the washing machine again. He’s known how to wash his clothes since he was fourteen, but she doesn’t know that, and leaves her laptop at the kitchen table and takes his arm. Chase pulls a face at him as he slips into the kitchen after them, and Eric suffers through a well-meaning two minute rundown and pretends to look interested.

“I’m so glad Chase has you around, baby,” she says as they head back into the kitchen, Chase leaning against the counter and drinking a bottled water. He winks at Eric and announces that they’re leaving before Eric can reply.

“You two have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she says and Eric can’t help but laugh. Chase punches his arm and shoves the keys into his grip, pushing Eric through the house to the door.

“See you tomorrow, I’m crashing at Eric’s tonight!” he calls over his shoulder and the door shuts on their goodbyes.

“Are you now?” Eric asks, and Chase grins.

“Make sure you take me with you, okay? Wake me up or drag me out if I pass out, or we can leave before then -- whatever,” Chase says. Eric just nods, coming ‘round to climb into the driver’s seat of Chase’s truck.

“Fucking stupid car, man,” Eric says as he adjusts the seat so his head isn’t crushed against the sun visor or roof. Chase just flips him the bird and reaches into his backpack for a beer, popping the tab and taking a long draw.

“Not my fault we can’t all be freakishly tall like you,” he grumbles. Eric just flicks the engine into life and listens to Chase’s shitty directions to the party.

 

* * *

 

As expected, Eric knows most of the people there from school, and Chase gets the kind of greeting that a president gets when he walks into his frat after the holidays.

Chase had been king of their year by the first month of freshman year, and from the Facebook and Twitter updates, the tradition continued when he went to Portland. Eric had hung back, preferring to watch the mess from the sidelines and laugh along with the few close buddies he had kept since elementary school. He wasn’t interested in being Mr. Popular, whereas Chase lapped up the attention -- _thrived_ with it.

“Go on,” Eric says as the door shuts behind him and Chase reaches into his backpack to add the Stoli and Bud Lite to the coolers in the kitchen.

“Go on what?” Chase says, apparently playing dumb tonight.

“Go mingle, have fun. I’ll be fine,” Eric says. He spied an XBox One tournament set up in one of the rooms they passed on the way there, and plans on claiming his crown as champion in whatever game those assholes are playing.

“Dude, no. We came here together. I’m yours tonight,” Chase says, pouting a little. Eric’s dreams of being the supreme overlord of the evening start to dissipate. Chase is the worst person _ever_ to play with -- his overly competitive nature means he turns into a raging asshole as soon as he loses, and his attention span is the _worst_. Eric’s been abandoned too many times in campaigns when Chase has gotten bored and gone rogue, so he’d prefer not to go through that shit again.

“What?”

“C’mon man, I haven’t seen you for ages. Tonight’s supposed to be our--”

“Dude, I wanna play XBox and you suck. Go on, seriously. Everyone wants to see you,” Eric says, taking a beer from Chase’s grip.

Chase is actively looking pissed with him now, and this is really fucking bizarre. Chase has always stuck around and made sure Eric was comfortable at parties, but they usually ended up doing their own thing after a half-hour and it was never a big deal before.

“But--” Chase starts, and a hand comes clapping on Eric’s back and sends him stumbling into Chase.

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he snaps, and looks over his shoulder.

“Commie! About time your fat ass got back into LA!” Gibby yells in his face. Eric laughs and hugs him. “C’mon man, we got an XBox thing in the front room. This party is all Chase’s crew, anyway,” Gibby continues and grabs at his arm, tugging him out the kitchen.

“I’ll come find you when I’m done!” Eric yells over the house music that starts thumping from the next room over, stumbling with Gibby back to the front of the house.

The rest of his friends from freshman year are in the room. They’re all shouting at each other and drinking, and Eric sinks back into the familiar environment. He’s so glad he’s in here, instead of out there trying to pretend like he’s having fun while Chase’s friends talk about surfing and hooking up with the kind of girls that only ever think of Eric as an adorable little brother.

 *

He’s well on his way to claiming his crown when his beer is out and he decides he wants another. Gibby’s on DD duty because he’s on antibiotics, so Eric figures they can use him as their driver and Gibby can crash in one of the spare rooms. Chase usually takes a mattress on Eric’s floor -- has done since they got too old to share a bed without it being awkward as fuck.

“Gonna get a drink, hang on!” Eric yells and shoves his controller at Mia, climbing his way over the people and stumbling into the corridor, trying to remember the way to the kitchen. Of course that’s when he gets to the doorway and grabs another Bud from the cooler, and looks up to see Chase pressing some blonde girl against the far doorway. They’re making out and her hand is clutching his ass, and his thigh is pressed between her legs.

Eric feels his legs and arms go numb, the bottle almost falling from his grip. He shakes his head, stumbling backward a little. He has _no right_ to be jealous. Chase is straight, Chase is not interested and Chase… Chase is destined to be a husband to a girl like that one day; either a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, or a model who’s from Manitoba, or invested enough in the relationship to want to bounce around cities.

Eric swallows against the burning sensation in his throat and grabs a couple more beers, heading back up the corridor and into the room.

“Rematch,” he snaps and yanks the controller from Gibby’s hands. He plans on winning this shit and then getting so drunk he forgets everything.

Which is exactly what happens.

*

The last thing he sees before he passes out on his bed, stinking of vodka and the margarita mix that Jenny spilled on him sometime after two, is Gibby shaking his head and calling him a dumb motherfucker.

Chase isn’t on the floor.

Eric just turns onto his stomach and passes out, the darkness finally coming to claim him for the night.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up the next morning with a blinding headache and the sun shining directly in his eyes, his blinds left open from the morning before.

“Fuck,” he groans. Fucking Chase, had to go and make out with that stupid girl at the goddamned party. Between that and Beau Bennett cornering him to talk about playing with fucking Crosby and Malkin, there was only so much a guy could take. Drinking as much as he did was a fucking stupid idea, sure, but Gibby had his back and he’s pretty sure he didn’t do anything overwhelmingly dumb.

He looks at his phone and there’s a couple of texts from Chase, the last being sometime after two, asking where the fuck he was.

Eric grunts and shoves his phone back under his pillow, staggering into his ensuite and hoping the hot water will heal his hangover.

It doesn’t.

 *

Chase rings just before lunchtime, Eric safely back in bed and trying to sleep his hangover off while surrounded with Gatorade and painkillers.

“Fuck, what?” Eric rasps, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Where the fuck did you go last night? I was so worried until Mia told me you left with Gibby! You totally bailed on me, you asshole!” Chase shouts. Eric yanks the phone away from his head.

“Ow Chase, I’m hungover, c’mon man,” he whines. Chase keeps yelling, the sounds garbled and Eric makes the strategic decision to wait him out.

“Look, I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you. Where are you?” he says, finally pulling his phone back to his head in a gap between the yelling, hoping Chase doesn’t start up again.

Chase makes a pissed off sound. “I’m still at the house. Everyone else was too drunk and I left my wallet at home so I couldn’t get a cab.”

Eric’s stomach rolls as the flash from last night comes -- Chase pressed up against the blonde girl. He swallows and tries some calming breathing.

“I saw you with some girl, figured you’d be busy with her and not want to be interrupted.”

There’s an awkward pause. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“You and that girl, in the kitchen? About an hour after we arrived?” Eric really doesn’t want to be having this conversation, and wills Chase to just laugh it off and let him move on.

Chase pauses, and then groans a little. “Oh, _that_. It wasn’t what it looked like, I mean. She kissed me, we kind of, last summer, but I didn’t-- I’m not looking for anything like that right now. We’ve got the Jets to focus on, y’know?”

Eric rubs his forehead. “Dude, whatever. That’s just why I didn’t bother looking for you when I left. I didn’t wanna cockblock you.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m still mad at you though. Come get me. You’re cooking lunch for me.”

Eric cannot imagine anything worse than getting behind the wheel of his car to pick up a pissed off and hungover Chase, and then having to _cook_ for him. “Dude, I am so hungover I’d probably end up puking in the frypan. If you wanna risk that, then fine.”

 _“Fine. Come get me.”_  

*

Chase is sitting on the front steps, his cap pulled down low over his face and his backpack by his feet, when Eric pulls up in Chase’s truck.

“Hi,” Eric says as Chase gets inside. Chase grunts and curls up in the backseat, pulling his cap right over his face.

“Let’s go to yours. I need a shower,” Chase says. Eric wonders why it wouldn’t be easier to just go to Chase’s, where he’s got all _his_ shit, but Eric wants his bed and he figures he can beg his mom to cook Chase whatever food he wants.

When they pull up, Chase is hopping out the car before Eric even turns off the engine, and has already hugged Eric’s mom and is halfway up the stairs when Eric stumbles inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Hungover?” she asks and hugs Eric, who groans and leans his head against hers.

“Drinking is shit,” he mumbles.

“That’s why it’s supposed to be illegal until you’re 21. Now go on, Chase looks like he’s going to drown himself in your shower. Bring his clothes down and I’ll wash them for him when he’s done,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Eric sighs and heads upstairs, pausing in his doorway and listening for the sounds of the shower.

He gets a clean towel and roots around in his drawers for some clothes to lend Chase. Pants are out of the question, given that it’s going to be over a hundred today and Chase is ridiculously short. He settles on a pair of basketball shorts shoved way back in a drawer and an old t-shirt from their year on the varsity hockey team at school. He awkwardly adds a pair of boxer briefs to the pile and knocks on the door, holding his breath.

“What?” Chase yells over the spray.

“Got a towel and some clothes for you. Mom wants to wash your stuff,” he calls back. Chase mutters something and Eric takes it as permission to come inside, keeping his eyes firmly trained anywhere but the fogged up shower glass. He can see a blurry outline of Chase washing his hair and god, that is _no_ what he needs to be thinking about right now. He scoops up Chase’s gear and dumps it on top of the rest of his dirty stuff in the hamper, flipping the lid shut and escaping before he pops a boner.

When Chase is done and pads downstairs, towelling at his dirty blonde hair and yawning, Eric’s sprawled over the kitchen table with an ice pack and a bottle of Gatorade. His mom is slicing up fruit and dithering over what to cook for dinner.

“Mom, seriously,” Eric sighs when Chase comes to stand next to him, and puts a hand on the back of his neck. He squeezes once and dumps the wet towel on Eric’s face, laughing.

“Fuck you,” Eric mutters and hangs it over the spare chair, breathing in the smell of clean skin and his bodywash. It’s disconcerting to see Chase and smell himself.

“Feeling more human?” his mom asks as Chase leans on the counter beside her and steals a grape.

“Hurry up and eat so I can go back to bed,” Eric says and Chase rolls his eyes but accepts the bowl Eric’s mom has chopped up for him.

“Bring down your dishes,” she says as they head back upstairs, Eric clutching a piece of dry toast and more Gatorade.

“How much did you drink?” Chase asks as Eric swallows down the toast, taking more painkillers and crawling into his bed. He piles the covers on himself and shoves his head under some of his pillows. If he ignores everything, maybe the world will go away and let him mope in peace.

Fucking Chase, this is all his fault.

Chase sighs and climbs on the bed next to him, sitting up and slowly eating his fruit as he flicks through the television mounted to the opposite wall. He lands on Adventure Time and sags down next to Eric, until his arm is pressed to Eric’s back.

Eric falls asleep listening to Jake and Finn having a deep and meaningful conversation while it rains swords, with Chase a steady, warm weight behind him.

 _This is what last night should’ve been,_ he thinks, before he passes out.

 

* * *

 

There’s a few weeks between the draft and development camp starting, and he splits his time hanging out with his boys, playing hours of League, training with Andy, and planning to go to the Marvel movie in August. It’s a few days before he’s due to leave for camp and he’s in the living room, his skin tacky with sweat, when Chase appears at the doorway. Mocha, the family teacup poodle, is in his arms and he’s shirtless and in shorts.

“C’mon man, we’re going for a swim,” he says. Eric raises an eyebrow.

“In my pool?”

“No shit, c’mon.” Chase reaches out a foot and jabs at him and Eric groans, too hot and lethargic to move.

“It’s too hot to go outside, I’m gonna burn.”

“I’ll help you with your sunscreen. C’mon man, it’s a ten minute drive over here and I almost died of heatstroke. The least you could do is let me swim in your pool.”

“Go swim then, you’re a big boy. You don’t need me around,” Eric says. Chase pouts and cuddles Mocha closer, who licks his chin. He starts giggling as Eric watches, feeling the sexual frustration build as Mocha’s little paws scrabble for purchase against Chase’s six pack, tensing and untensing as he laughs. _Fuck._

“Alright, alright. Stupid Mocha, liking Chase more than me,” Eric says, making the inhuman effort to peel himself off the couch and head to his room.

“Ew, man, there’s sweat marks on the couch,” Chase’s voice carries after him.

 

When he gets to the pool, Chase is sitting by the edge with Mocha still in his arms, sunglasses and cap firmly in place. His skin is golden brown all over and Eric allows himself a moment to look, a moment to follow the curve of his back and the shift of his muscles, the flash of dark ink against his skin. He’s so fucked, God.

He creeps up behind them, a grin on his face, and plants two hands on Chase’s back and shoves him in. Chase yelps and they go under with an almighty splash while Eric bursts out laughing on the deck. Mocha surfaces before he does, paddling to the edge and whining at Eric until he takes pity and pulls her out. She shakes off over him and he groans, dropping his towel and reaching for the sunscreen.

“Very mature,” Chase splutters, throwing his now-soaked hat at Eric. Eric ducks with a smirk and rubs the sunscreen on his arms and chest.

“C’mon, lemme do your back otherwise you’ll get burned and bitch when your pads rub. We’ve got camp in a couple of days,” Chase says, hauling himself out and coming to stand next to Eric. Eric elbows him but Chase grabs the sunscreen and squirts some in his palm.

“You got your flight tickets yet?” Chase says, and Eric nods as Chase’s fingers dig into his shoulders a little. He needs to go for a massage at some point, he’s so tense.

“Yeah, they sent ‘em this morning. I leave on Sunday at like, two in the afternoon or something, through Vancouver.” He’s already organised a flight from Winnipeg to Edmonton, planning on spending a few weeks there to get some specialist goalie training in and to see his family. He wonders what Chase will do while he’s away. More parties and hanging out with the Bennetts, no doubt.

“Cool, we’re flying together then,” Chase says. His voice sounds funny and Eric looks over his shoulder, but he’s still wearing his sunglasses so he can’t see anything.

“Everything okay?” he asks, a little concerned. Chase nods and tosses the sunscreen aside, before locking his arms around Eric’s waist and launching them both into the pool. Eric surfaces, spluttering and coughing, and Chase is laughing so hard he can barely stay afloat.

“Asshole!” Eric yells, launching for him.

He gets burned, but only a little -- and Chase puts aloe on his back, so it all evens out.

*

Eric’s mom demands that Chase stay over for dinner again because Eric’s dad is grilling, Mike and Paul due to come around with their families as well. Chase looks at Eric, and Eric shrugs and nods. “As long as your parents aren’t gonna be mad you bailed,” he says.

“Dude, I’m eighteen. I don’t think they care,” Chase says and Eric rolls his eyes.

“Oooh, big legal man now, eh?” he chirps and ducks the punch that comes for him. Chase is blushing but tells Eric’s mom he’d love to stay, and asks if she needs any help -- like the massive suck up that he is.

Once everyone arrives and dinner draws closer, Chase catches up with Mike while Eric and Luca play with some toys on the floor of the kitchen. Paul’s kids play in the pool while the rest mill around between the kitchen and the backyard.

“When you guys going to camp?” Eric overhears Mike asking.

“In a couple of days. The Jets have sent us our tickets and hotel details, we’re flying together which is cool,” Chase replies. Eric gnaws on his lip and watches as Luca stacks his blocks into something resembling a tower.

“It’s a big one!” he says and Eric nods, adding another block to the top and knocking everything down in the process.

“Whoops,” he says and laughs as Luca glares at him, reaching for a block to start again. He misses whatever the end of the conversation is and focusses on his nephew until Chase comes to sit by his side. He crosses his legs and his knee presses into Eric’s hip, Eric lying stomach down on the tile while Luca shifts around in front of him.

“Okay?” Eric asks without looking away from Luca. Chase just reaches out to ruffle his hair, laughing when Eric tries to elbow him.

“Jerk, always gotta mess with my flow,” he says. Chase rolls his eyes and readjusts his snapback, this one advertising the Jets.

“What flow? You look like a lawnmower went crazy on your head,” Chase chirps. Eric snorts and turns back to Luca, holding out a block to place it on top. Luca yells and pushes his hand away.

“No! No breaking!” he squawks and Chase sniggers from next to him.

“Can I try, buddy?” he asks. Luca eyes him distrustfully but lets Chase take the block from Eric and lean over to put it on the tower. It means Eric’s back is now pressed against Chase’s chest, and he feels Chase’s heartbeat, smells his cologne and the warmth underneath his t-shirt. He closes his eyes for a beat and just enjoys it, a smile on his face. That is until Chase pulls his arm away and the tower comes crashing down again.

“No!” Luca wails, and throws a block at Chase. Chase grabs it before it does any damage, full of apologies while Eric grins and pulls himself upright, gently pushing Chase off him.

“C’mon bud, before Luca tries again and gets your moneymaker,” Eric says, tugging at the back of Chase’s tee as he stands up. His mom picks Luca up off the floor and asks if he wants to help with dinner, and Eric wanders outside to join his dad and brothers, Chase right behind him.

“Come turn these steaks,” Paul says, reaching out to mess with Eric’s hair. He dodges and goes stumbling into Chase a little, Chase’s hand coming up to steady his elbow with a smile before he pulls back. He really needs to get this shit under control before they end up on a team together and Eric can’t use the distance to disguise his ridiculous crush.

 

Dinner’s a loud, overwhelming affair like always-- Mike tries to make him and Chase sit at the kids table, and Eric is about to throw the fuck down when their dad steps in and pushes Eric to the big table, where Chase is tapping away at his phone.

“Dude, Instagram much?” Eric sighs as he drops down into the seat next to him, Ty across the table and making eyes at the steak on the very top of the pile. It’s one of the biggest pieces and Eric will _fight him_ , swear to God.

“C’mere,” Chase says and tugs Eric in for a selfie, his hair wild from his hat. The bridge of Eric’s nose and cheeks are pink, and he doesn’t even get time to fix his own hair before Chase is snapping the photo and fiddling with filters.

“No phones at the table,” Paul says as the rest of them sit down, and Chase pulls a face but tucks his phone back into his pants.

Eric sneaks a look after dinner when they’re taking plates to the sink and finds the photo straight away.

 **cdeleo95:** _Me and my boy @ericcomrie1 at dinner, steaks and good company. #ohana_

Family. Of course.

 

* * *

 

The morning dev camp’s due to start, Chase’s dad picks him up to take them to the airport. Eric’s already said his goodbyes to his parents; besides, the the camp is only set to last a couple of days, and even with the extra time in Canada seeing his extended family, it won’t be long. He went to last year’s dev camp and wonders if he’ll see the same guys, or if it’ll be a bunch of new faces. Probably a bit of both-- like every other he’s done.

“Be careful, and good luck!” Chase’s dad calls as they get out the truck, slinging their gear bags and sticks over their shoulders. Eric waves and Chase whoops, swinging his gear bag and trying to hit Eric on the way into the terminal.

Eric has their boarding passes ready while Chase wrestles with the bag drops, and Chase shouts them hot chocolate and donuts while they wait around for their boarding call.

It’s been a while since he’s flown commercial, the family jet mostly what he’s used to (what a pretentious asshole thing to say, fuck), but he enjoys the squashed space and Chase pressed up against him, using the time to catch up on Game of Thrones and mentally prepare himself for camp.

 

* * *

 

Chase somehow wrangles it so they’re sharing a room -- Eric had bunked with Austen last time, a winger who was drafted the same year as Eric was. Not that Eric’s going to complain. Chase starts up his popular guy thing with the forwards and Eric drifts to the d-men and goalie huddles, greeting guys he knows from last camp and saying hello to the new ones.

They don’t really interact that much during the three days on the ice, but off the ice Chase is by his side, dragging him to do things with his new prospect buddies and talking excitedly about how well they’re doing.

“Dude, don’t jinx it,” Eric says on the last night, throwing his pillow at Chase when he says they’re totally going to the AHL next season.

“It’s not a jinx!” Chase says, shoving it under his back and flicking until he finds an Iron Man movie.

“Oh man, I can’t wait for that new Marvel movie. We should see it,” he says as Eric starts flicking through his Instagram. He could probably recite the Iron Man trilogy in his sleep now, he’s seen them so many times. It’s why it takes a moment or two for what Chase says to sink in.

“What now?” he says, looking up. Chase is fiddling with the remote and looks over, a soft smile on his face.

“Marvel have that Guardians movie coming out in a couple of weeks, yeah? We should go see it together, or uhm. I dunno, I just like the--” he says, waving his hand around to apparently encompass the whole package.

“I’m seeing it with some of the guys on the night it opens but you can come. I’ll get Greg to buy another ticket,” Eric says. Chase’s smile flickers a little at the edges and he holds out a hand for a fist bump. Eric sighs but leans over, flailing until he gets close enough to pound it.

“Idiot,” Chase mutters. Eric would fling another pillow but Chase already has too many and he’s too tired to fight him on it.

“I didn’t think you were into the comic book stuff,” Eric says and Chase shrugs.

“I liked all the other movies. Iron Man, the Avengers, Thor… Captain America of course,” he grins and Eric laughs. His mask really is kickass and he thinks he’ll keep it for another season if he’s sent back to the W. Otherwise he’ll have to design something cool that integrates Canada a lot more. They’d kill him if he rocked up with a Captain America mask.

“We should go and do something cool this summer,” Chase says a while later, rousing Eric from where he’s napping fitfully on his bed.

“Huh?”

“I dunno, could be sweet. We could go to Vegas or uh, maybe Miami or Boston? Just the two of us, boys holiday.” Chase is looking at him and Eric rubs his eyes.

“Well, I’m gonna be in Edmonton for the next few weeks so it’ll have to be after that.” He’s always wanted to go to Boston so he’ll be pushing for that.

“You’re what?” Chase frowns.

“I’m going to see my family and do a bit of training in Edmonton. Sorry, thought I told you. I’ll be flying there instead of to Vancouver. That’s why I bought so much stuff,” Eric says, looking at the suitcase he’d bought, instead of a duffle like everyone else.

Chase nibbles on his lip until Eric raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?” he asks, not exactly sure he wants a reply. Chase just shakes his head and turns back to face the television, leaving Eric feeling wrong footed somehow.

 

* * *

 

The Jets want them to do an interview the day the camp finishes, so they go to some restaurant and are seated next to each other, answering the questions the gorgeous journalist asks them. Chase is all smooth and balanced and Eric feels like a child, laughing at everything he says and talking about their past together and how excited they are to be in Winnipeg (which is bullshit, but neither of them would ever admit to it).

Once they’re allowed to leave, Chase is slow in dragging his heels to their car while Eric strides ahead, an eye on his watch.

“Chase, hurry the fuck up or I’m gonna miss my flight!” Eric snaps as he waits by the car, Chase still yards away. Chase shoots him an irritated look but speeds up, climbing in and fucking around on his phone all the way back to the hotel. They’re being dropped off at the airport together with the rest of the boys, all the departing flights within an hour of each other, and Eric likes to be early enough that he doesn’t have to rush around an unfamiliar airport. Maybe in a few years he’ll know Winnipeg better, but for now he’d like to just be _organised_.

Chase is silent as they grab their bags and disappears with some of his buddies, splitting them up across the shuttles. Eric rolls his eyes, recognising one of Chase’s sulks from a mile away. Whatever happened, it’s sure not Eric’s problem-- Chase refuses to talk to him when he’s like this, how’s he supposed to fix it?

There’s a couple other guys flying to Edmonton with him and he wanders with them towards their check in desk, weighed down with his ridiculously heavy goalie gear. He ends up chatting with one of the wingers, Lipon, who’s from Regina but lives in Edmonton.

“You training with buddies, or…?” Lipon asks, and Eric shrugs.

“Dunno yet, we usually organise stuff when I get there. It’s hard ‘cos my conditioning is different than everyone else so I usually just train alone. I don’t have any goalie buddies in Alberta,” he sighs. Lipon grins, his missing tooth stark against the wall of white around it.

“Tell me about it, man. It’d be so tough being a goalie. Huge kudos to you, bro,” he says, putting his gear on the belt to be weighed as the attendant hands Eric his boarding pass and passport.

He stretches as he waits for Lipon and they walk to the security gates together, talking about the camp and their expectations for next season as they go.

“Dude was a beast on the ice,” Lipon sighs as Eric comes through the security scan and reaches for his belt and phone. Of course the conversation soon turned to Chase.

“That he is. He should’ve gone a higher pick but I’m not mad. It’s great we’re on the same team again,” Eric says, unable to hide the smile as he spots Chase coming through security with some of the forwards also headed to LA. Eric also notices a few other guys from the team with Chase, waving at them all.

“Comrie,” Lowry calls as they head over, smiling widely at him. Eric smiles and shakes his hand-- they’d talked a bit on the ice during the camp and sat next to each other at one of the dinners, and he likes the guy. Not an asshole, which is always nice, and while centers don’t usually have the same relationships with goalies that d-men do, Lowry had always hustled to help out when he could.

“Hey, man. Where you headed to?” Eric shakes his hand and lets himself be drawn into a hug. Chase watches it happen with his lips pursed and hands pushed deep in his pockets.

He’s still pissed, then. Great.

“Calgary. You going back to LA?” Lowry asks. Eric shakes his head.

“Nope, Edmonton for some training for a bit. Back to LA after that, I’ll stay for the rest of the summer and see what happens.”

“Jets would be crazy not to send you up to the ‘Caps,” Lowry says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Eric flushes at the praise.

“Nah, I’m not that great yet.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid. You’re awesome, and they’d be dumb not to get you started in the AHL now,” Chase butts in, glaring. Eric rolls his eyes, interrupted when Glover and Walker appear.

“Dude, we gotta go, Edmonton flight starts boarding soon,” Walker says, hitching his backpack higher up on his shoulder. Eric nods and turns back to the group, throwing up a hand to wave goodbye.

“Send me your flight details, I’ll come pick you up,” Chase says as Eric turns to leave. He raises an eyebrow but shrugs and nods, and Chase hugs him tight, nose pressed against Eric’s collarbone. “Gonna miss you, asshole.”

“I haven’t even left yet,” Eric protests weakly as Chase pulls back, a smile on his face. It’s not as bright as his usual but it’s enough that Eric feels it reach inside and stoke that stupid fucking crush, making it burn a little brighter. The thought of being away from Chase makes him ache but it’s -- the distance is good, the distance will _help_. It just _has_ to.

He waves goodbye and jogs after the guys, looking back to see Chase watching him go, his smile slowly disappearing the further Eric gets.

 

* * *

 

As great as it is to be back in Edmonton, the time apart from Chase doesn’t solve shit. His cousins all chirp him for his pathetic ‘bromance’, of which he can’t dispute given how bad he blushes and grins every time they mention Chase, and his grandparents feed him non-stop in an effort to get something to stick.

By the end of the two weeks he spends there, he’s feeling a lot more centered in his stamina and has included some new yoga poses to his daily workout in order to keep his flexibility up.

“You should’a bought Chase, that boy needs a feed as well,” his grandpa grumbles as he takes him to the airport the day of his flight. He’d already texted Chase the night before to tell him what time he arrived, and got a bunch of heart-eye cat emojis back. What a dork.

“Chase is weird about what he puts in his mouth, I think he’d end up offending Nanna,” Eric says and his grandpa mutters all the way to the airport about _boys these days_ and _conditioning my ass._

 

* * *

 

He touches down in LA just after seven at night, and Chase has already texted to let him know he’s waiting for him at the arrivals gate. The line moves faster than usual tonight and it only takes him a half-hour to make it through immigration and customs before he’s at the gate.

Chase is leaning against a pillar, looking every inch the Californian frat boy and _so fucking hot._ Eric’s dick twitches in his jeans as Chase texts someone, his biceps tensing and untensing and the plain white tank highlighting the golden brown skin. He’s in shorts, flops and another cap, the golden chain of his necklace sitting underneath his shirt and the whole fucking package makes Eric want to lie down and beg. For what, who knows -- his fantasies never get that far. He just knows he’d take whatever Chase offered, even if it was just letting him jerk it while Chase stood naked next to him.

 _No boners,_ he hisses at himself and thinks of his grandparents fucking while he walks closer. He grins and bumps up behind Chase, laughing as he stumbles forward and whirls around, ready to bitch out whoever interrupted him before he realises it’s Eric.

“Fuck you, asshole,” he says and tugs Eric in for a hug, squeezing his arms around Eric’s midsection before pulling back. He’s wearing that cologne again and Eric trails after Chase through the airport and outside, drifting on it until they’re pulling up at the gates and Chase is leaning to the intercom.

“Hello?” Eric’s dad’s voice comes over the line.

“Yo, Mr. Comrie, it’s Chase. I’ve got your precious cargo here for unloading,” Chase giggles. Eric socks him in the arm, and they listen to him laugh and the doors swing open.

Chase stays for dinner, and then for the night, falling asleep on the floor listening to Eric’s stories about camp and swapping them for his own.

Eric doesn’t think he can handle spending another season apart.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks before the NHL season is due to start, Eric’s lying on his bed reading an old Iron Man comic when his phone goes off by his elbow.

“H’lo,” he says, not bothering to look at Caller ID. He probably should’ve, because it’s Craig Helsinger, the GM for the Jets’ farm team.

“The lineups for the season have been discussed between myself and Kevin, and our teams. We want you to report to preseason camp for the ‘Caps, son. We were very impressed with your dev camp performance, and we want to see how you go as the backup for Juho this season.”

Eric’s shaking when the call ends. He legs it for the door and is hugging Ty when his phone goes off again in his pocket. It’s Chase.

“Dude the IceCaps want me at camp--” Chase is yelling down the line and Eric could almost fucking cry.

 

* * *

 

Coach McCambridge and his team of assistants, doctors and therapists greets the boys as they file into the restaurant for dinner the first night of camp.

The camp is being held in Winnipeg, with the cuts being sent home from there and then the rest of the team flying up to St. John’s to begin final preparations for the season. Most AHL teams use buses, but given the isolated nature, and that it’d take double the amount of time for the ‘Caps to get anywhere, they’re supplemented by the league to take a flight to Winnipeg and bus from there. Eric’s just happy he doesn’t have to spend an extra twelve hours on a coach, freezing his ass off and looking out at vast nothingness for all of it.

It’s the usual introductory bullshit, Eric’s staring at the menu and wondering if he could get away with ordering two steaks -- he’s _that hungry, fuck_ \-- and they’re told it’ll be a full three days of on and off-ice performance testing.

Chase is sitting further down the table with some forwards Eric doesn’t recognise and Lowry, and he smiles and turns to chirp Lowry about something on his phone. Eric shakes his head and lets Juho grill him about his dad.

 

* * *

Camp is exhausting and Eric’s spent half of it nervously watching Connor, his main competition for backup goalie, in the crease, trying to figure out who the coaches are more impressed by. He doesn’t usually dedicate time to that, but Chase is impressing the hell out of everyone -- he managed to gain ten pounds of muscle over the summer and grew a few inches -- and Eric can’t have Chase up here getting AHL hockey while he goes back to Washington. He _can’t._

It’s a relief when McCambridge tells him he’ll be travelling with the team to St. John’s, but that the option of sending him back down to the juniors is a very real likelihood, given slower goalie development and all of the usual shit.

He’s rooming with Chase, like normal, and he fishes his phone out his pocket to text the good news.

_Staying up!! McCambridge came 2 see me:)_

He’s in Juho’s room with a few of the d-men playing on their PSPs; Eric’s not super great at first-person shooters but it looks like he’ll have to bone up on it this season if he wants to continue his settling in to the team. His phone buzzes seconds later with

_ME TOO! WHERE ARE U???_

Chase went out with a bunch of guys to some club; dumb fucking idea but apparently they came back early if the coach managed to find him.

_Juhos, will be back @ ours soon._

If it weren’t for the autocorrect on his iPhone, Eric is pretty sure 99% of his texts would be completely illegible but fucking whatever. Chase sends back a bunch of cat face emojis that make him laugh, and he stays to finish the game before leaving.

“Glad you’re staying up, kid,” Juho says, his accent thick in that Finnish way Eric’s never managed to really get his head around.

“Thanks,” Eric says, heartfelt. They share a shake and a backslap and Eric heads back to his room, the door flying open and Chase standing there in only his boxers and a ridiculous grin.

“Dude!” he yells and grabs Eric’s shirt, laughing. Eric’s laughing too by the time the door closes.

 

* * *

 

Eric’s first impressions of St. John’s in September are that it’s hot, the ocean looks _amazing_ and the city reminds him of San Francisco, with the rolling hills and steep maze of houses.

“How do you think the surfing is here?” Chase says to him, leaning close enough that his chest presses against Eric’s back as they peer out the bus windows.

They’ve been assigned billets already, and Eric is staying with an older couple whose son has left for college. They live in one of the rich suburbs, according to Lowry who’s been at the ‘Caps for long enough to know.

“Rich boy sticks with his people, eh?” someone chirps from behind and Eric rolls his eyes. Chase’s jaw clenches and Eric jabs him in the thigh. He’s been taking stick for years over his affluence and Chase has always felt the need to jump to his rescue or some shit. While it sends a thrill through Eric that Chase is _protective,_ it’s also fucking embarrassing.

“Stop,” Eric says under his breath. Chase just shakes his head and starts muttering about getting more protein to bulk up.

 

* * *

 

The first few weeks in St. John’s are taken up with settling into the new team, training like crazy and learning more about his billet family. It’s difficult, he thinks, being at this age and starting over again and again, but it’s _hockey_ so he doesn’t really hate it.

At least he has Chase again. Chase, who is currently sidelined with an oblique sprain he got from a particularly overenthusiastic scrimmage two days ago during practise, and has been bitching ever since.

“Dude, chill. You’ll be back soon, don’t worry about it,” Eric says after the fifth explosion of swearing from Chase. He’s got his leg propped up on the couch and they’re supposed to be playing Mario Kart, but Chase is bitter and shitty and Eric has no idea why he even said yes when Chase asked him to come over. Well, he’s perfectly aware why he said yes, he’s just too dumb to admit it.

“And what the fuck do you know? You’re not injured and you’re a goalie, the pressure isn’t the same and you know it!” Chase snaps.

One of the things Eric hates about him, sometimes, is Chase’s temper. Most athletes are the same; it’s why they play sports and are so good at what they do, the hyper-aggressive asshole status the reason they can pick themselves up or push past their limits. Eric isn’t like that; he can push himself beyond, no questioning that, but he would never dream of--

“What the fuck? And what, being a goalie is fucking easy compared to being a center? You know what, fuck you. I’m leaving,” Eric says, hauling himself out the couch and storming out. He’s using his billet family’s spare truck, and is so fucking glad he did because he doesn’t think he could sit in that house and wait for one of them to come get him.

He drives around aimlessly for an hour until his rage levels subside enough to head back to his house, and he kills faceless assholes on Call of Duty until dinner.

Fuck Chase, honestly. Fuck him if he thinks it’s a walk in the park for Eric, and fuck him for even suggesting it.

 

* * *

 

It takes Chase three days to apologise.

During this time, Eric ignores all questions about him (the team having been educated about their ‘pact’, and they chirped _hard_ about the dev camp interview) and focusses on working on his time between the sticks, watching Juho and absorbing everything he can from the coaching staff and tape of the other teams.

The anger’s gone -- he knows Chase didn’t mean it, knows he’s just frustrated about being injured and what that could mean for him, but he didn’t need to take it out on Eric.

When it does come, Eric’s lying on his bed flicking through the latest copy of Sports Illustrated, when there’s a knock on his door.

“Come in!” Eric calls, expecting his billet mom with a pile of laundry. Instead, Chase is standing there, wearing a ‘Caps hoodie and grey sweatpants, socked feet wiggling underneath. He’s starting to grow his hair out again, which Eric thinks is a silent miracle -- he looks so much better with longer hair.

“Oh,” Eric says. Chase’s face falls.

“I-- I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Eric shrugs and waves Chase in, but doesn’t move from the bed. Chase shuts the door and comes to stand by his bed, and he looks so miserable Eric shuffles over. Chase flops down immediately, curling up against Eric’s side. He gently maneuvers his bad leg to rest over the back of Eric’s, tucking his ankle between Eric’s leg, and moves in close enough that his face is pretty much by Eric’s elbow. Eric’s breath seizes as Chase sighs.

“I’ve missed you like crazy. I knew I was being a dick as soon as you left but it just… it sucked so bad. I’m really sorry.”

“‘s okay, bud,” Eric wheezes, coughing. Chase giggles, and looks up at him, dark brown eyes happy and warm.

“I’m really glad we’re… y’know. You’re one of the best things in my life, man.”

Christ, what’s gotten into Chase this year? Eric feels so confused.

“Same,” Eric says. Chase sighs and snuggles back down, slinging an arm over Eric’s back and falling asleep next to him. Eric holds as still as he can, turning back to his magazine.

 

* * *

 

Life in St. John is great, being on the same team with Chase-- horrific crush notwithstanding-- is great, everything’s great. But he feels so adrift, like Chase is streaking ahead on a power play and expecting Eric to be right behind him. Eric’s a _goalie_ , though, and he doesn’t know how to remind Chase that he needs to communicate if he expects Eric to be able to keep up, or know what the fuck’s going on.

Chemistry with the team takes a little longer because he’s a goalie, and Chase seems to have fallen in with the few other guys around their age-- most of the team are in their mid-to-late 20’s or early 30’s, which is strange for an AHL team, but like Eric’s going to question that. He spends most of his time with Chase and the other young guys, or with Juho to learn from him.

Time as a goalie can be hard, and development takes a long time; he made peace with that a while ago. Chase will probably end up in the show before he will.

That is, until Juho goes down with a back injury in practise the morning of their game against Utica, who are leading the Western conference, and Eric is thrust into the starting spot. It’s a home game, and he’s terrified.

Chase finds him after practise, when he’s getting dressed mechanically, his mind going a billion miles an hour. Juho is out at least 4 weeks, if not longer depending on his recovery, and Eric’s hands are shaking. It’s an AHL game, he _knows_ he’s good, but the Jets will be watching, and this could be his _chance_.

“Commers,” Chase says, snapping him out his daze. Eric looks up and Chase is standing there, dressed in sweats, a ‘Caps hoodie and his hair wild. Eric wants to sink his fingers in amongst the tousled mess and pull him in, and kiss him until his heart stops beating so wildly.

Instead, he swallows and tries to smile. Chase rolls his eyes. “We’re going out for sushi,” he says.

“I’m not hungry,” Eric says. It’s not a lie. Chase kicks at Eric’s ankle, not hard enough to hurt, but it stings anyway and he scowls.

“Ow, fucker!”

“You need to eat, don’t be dumb. I know you’re nervous, but you’ve _got this, dude_.” Chase tugs him upright and walks off towards the parking lot, not looking back. Eric groans and grabs his jacket, striding out after him.

*

Chase takes him to The Rocket on Water, which is fast becoming a regular haunt for the guys on their team. It’s a cheap cafe and they make huge sandwiches and amazing home soups; Chase orders him a turkey and salad on rye and tomato soup, amidst protests from Eric, and gets sliders and a side of wedges for himself.

“I know you stop eating when you get nervous, and that’s the last thing you need, Jack Skellington,” Chase says, leaning back in his chair. Their legs tangle under the tiny table, and Eric flushes.

“Fuck you, I’ve put on muscle,” he says weakly. Chase waves a hand at him.

“Show me your muscle. Probably in your ass but that’s about it,” he says.

Eric flushes deeper. “Typical, looking at my ass all the time.” He regrets it as soon as he says it, but Chase just laughs, shaking his head.

“As if I’m _not_ gonna look at that ass.”

It hits too close to what Eric really wants, but he’s so thankful Chase is just being normal around him. The weird cloying heaviness between them has been so draining, and Eric’s been too exhausted to try and figure it out.

The food comes and Eric sips slowly at his soup while Chase snacks on the wedges, before pushing them in between and sharing so they can dip them and slurp. Chase gets soup down his face and Eric laughs way too much about it, but Chase just plays along, keeping Eric distracted while they wait for their sandwiches.

He’s halfway through his meal and listening to Chase tell stories about his sister and her boyfriend back home, and the latest dumb shit they got up to, when it strikes him again that he’ll be starting in goal _tonight_. He puts his sandwich down with a sigh, rubbing his face.

“Dude, you’re gonna be so great. Don’t even stress about it,” Chase says. Eric hunches up, and Chase knocks their knees together.

“I’m-- it’s okay, I mean. I know I’ll do okay. I just… I’m glad I’m getting the start. The Jets saw something in me to draft me. It’s just kind of overwhelming, y’know?”

Chase nods, his face sad. “We promised we’d get here together, and we have. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not bailing on me either.” He holds up his fist and Eric shakes his head, a smile crawling on his face, but bumps him back.

“Now eat your damn sandwich before I force feed it to you,” Chase finishes, picking his food back up while Eric laughs.

 

* * *

 

His GAA is .879 by the time Juho comes back, which isn’t amazing but it isn’t bad either, and the goalie coaches and the staff are all positive about it, so Eric just smiles and lets Juho tousle his hair and thank him for keeping the crease safe.

Someone gets an invite to a party and half the team tag along, mid-season bored and hungry for some sort of human interaction. St. John’s is a freaking small town, and they’re all going a little stir crazy in their own ways.

The second Eric steps through the front door, he gets bum rushed by three girls, all of whom somehow know of him. He stammers his way through greetings, a beer and then another get pushed into his hands, and before he knows it he’s pressed against a hallway wall, one girl making out with him while another rubs her hand down his neck and starts undoing his belt.

“Not here,” he mumbles and she giggles, tugs him backwards until him and Amber--Anna?-- go staggering after her into a dark spare bedroom. A lamp flicks on and he’s pushed onto the bed, and he swallows as best he can. Drinking is the _best_ , but he doesn’t like the fuzzy head or how his tongue goes all thick sometimes. It doesn’t look like either girl is interested in his conversational skills, though.

He’s had sex, enough of it to know what comes next and manages to get Amber’s friend to straddle his face. He can lick at her while Amber sucks his dick, and if he squeezes his eyes shut and imagines it’s Chase, well.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to both girls on one side of the bed, snoring loudly, while he clutches at the covers and tries to figure out where the fuck he is. His phone is vibrating from his pants, half tucked under the bed, and he manages to grab it before the call hangs and shoves it blindly to his ear.

“Hello?” he whispers, regretting it instantly as his head throbs.

“Where the fuck are you?” Chase’s voice comes down the line. He sounds _pissed_.

“Huh?” Eric asks, hopping into his jeans and almost falling flat on his face. He grabs his shirt and socks and tiptoes out, shutting the door behind him.

“--said you’d be here for lunch, but it’s like 12.30 and you’re still not here. Are you still at the house?” Chase is saying. Eric groans and rubs his face.

“Yeah, I-- I slept in, I passed out in some room and I just, I don’t know where the fuck I am. Where did we end up?” he whines.

He can hear the rest of the team in the background, and someone starts shouting about Commers pulling _two_ puck bunnies.

“...two girls?” Chase asks. Eric swallows.

“Um, yeah. It was alright. I’m calling a cab now, I’ll be there in a bit. Say sorry to everyone for me,” Eric says and hangs up.

The last thing he wanted was for Chase to find out he had slept with two girls, especially since it wasn’t what he wanted. Not that what he wanted mattered. Chase was straight, and not interested. It was the same damn story he’d been telling himself for years.

No matter how clingy Chase was, no matter how pissy he got over dumb coincidental shit.

 

* * *

 

Except okay, maybe Eric was onto something, because it’s been two weeks since the party and Chase has barely said ten words to him. Most of them have been, “you wanna bang her?” whenever they go out with the team, tilting his beer at the nearest girl -- as if Eric’s supposed to be some massive manwhore now.

“What?” Eric snaps after the sixth bottle tilt. The girl Chase is pointing at is tall and waif-like. Eric doesn’t want tall and waif-like. He wants short and tanned and solid. He wants--

“That girl. You obviously love picking up now, so why not her?” Chase says. Eric’s jaw drops.

“I _what?_ I love picking up? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he exclaims. Chase drains his bottle and scoots out the booth. Eric watches him throw down some loonies and grab for his jacket, muttering something about going home.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you, but you need to go figure it out,” Juho says, shaking his head. Eric grits his teeth and gets up, storming outside after Chase.

Chase is halfway down the street, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and Eric grabs him and tugs him into the park nearby. It’s lit by a few street lamps but is otherwise empty, like the rest of the street. If their friendship is going to end, it might as well be in a morbid ass setting like this.

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem? Acting like I’m some huge fucking asshole all of a sudden? Fuck you!” Eric exclaims. Chase just glowers at him. “You’ve been weird all fucking-- God, ever since you got drafted by the Jets. This was supposed to be _our_ year together, and you’re just-- what the fuck is going on with you?” he continues, arms pinwheeling.

“Fuck you, _you’ve_ changed!” Chase fires back.

“How? How have I changed, exactly? I’m still exactly the same guy I always was!”

“Yeah, well, why the fuck do I feel like it’s the end of the goddamned world every time you kiss someone that isn’t me?” Chase yells. Eric goes to yell back, because it’s just ingrained in him now to fight, but then the words sink in and _what_.

“...what?” he whispers. Chase is bright pink and breathless, and Eric has no idea what he’s just heard, of what he’s _hearing_.

“Fuck, man, I just. I’m in love with you, I think. I mean, I know I am but I just. It’s so uncool, I know, and I’ll get over it but I can’t, I need you to know. Like.” Chase stops, flapping a hand uselessly. He looks miserable.

Eric is having trouble hearing over the static noise building up in his head. This can’t be happening. This shit cannot be happening on a mostly empty street on a fucking Tuesday, or whatever day it is. It’s too random, too stupid, too--

“I’m really sorry, I know you don’t feel the same, but I--” Chase is cut off with a _mphhf!_ as Eric rushes forwards and kisses him. It’s ungainly and awkward, Chase’s head at a weird angle and their teeth clack together, but then Chase’s fingers bury themselves in the front of Eric’s pullover and he goes up on his tiptoes and it’s _perfect_. Eric wraps his arms around Chase and holds him close, and they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Chase pulls back, breathing hard, his fingers still clutched and holding Eric close.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps. Eric nods and moves to his neck, sucking at the warm, tan skin that’s apparently all fair game to him now.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, you have no idea,” Eric says between bruising kisses. Chase groans, far too loud for being in public, and Eric steps backwards, all but wrenching himself away.

“Shit. Okay. We, um. Okay.”

Chase starts laughing, and shoves his hands in his pockets. His cheeks are red and his mouth is swollen, and he looks so fucking happy. He looks so fucking happy _because of Eric_.

“C’mon man, my billet family will be in bed. Let’s go talk this shit out,” Chase says, and holds out a hand.

Eric bites down on his lip and takes it, stepping in close to Chase for the walk home. He doesn’t know exactly how they got here, to having shouted confessions in a park in fucking St. John’s of all places, but at least they’re here. At least Eric has this. He has this, and he has hockey, and life is looking so fucking amazing right now. He can’t help but duck in and kiss Chase one last time, searching after that teasing laugh.

“Eric!” Chase exclaims, but doesn’t pull back, just kisses Eric back just as hard. And that, he guesses, is how Eric knows Chase really does love him.

 

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE.**

 

“Eric, baby, you okay with that coleslaw?” Chase’s mom asks. Eric nods and pushes the back patio door open, ducking outside with the massive tray.

It’s summer break, and they’ve been back in California for all of a day and they’re already having a family barbecue. Except this year it’s a little different.

Both of their families had been over the moon when Eric and Chase Skyped them individually to tell them that they were dating. Eric’s mom had started crying, while Chase’s parents admitted they’d had bets going on as to when they’d both wise up and figure out how good they were together. Chase was acting all horrified that his parents were _betting_ on them, while Eric laughed next to him. It definitely was a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Eric ends up sitting between Mike and Chase, which means Mike plops Luca on Eric’s lap while he eats dinner. Luca’s still in the sharing stage, so Chase cuts up as much of Eric’s food as he can get to and Luca “helps” Eric eat. It’s a huge mess and Eric gets potato salad smeared all over his face, which makes everyone at the damn table laugh at him, but Chase leans over and kisses him, wiping it off with his finger.

“You look good with him,” Chase whispers once the others have gone back to their dinner and discussion. Eric flushes.

“Dude, we’re teenagers, what the hell,” he hisses. Chase rolls his eyes and squeezes Eric’s leg under the table.

“I’m just saying, you’re awesome with him. It’s really hot,” he winks, his tongue running along his bottom lip. Eric goes beet red and tries to figure out if he can push Luca back on Mike long enough to beat Chase, when his mom stands up and taps on her wine glass.

“I just want to give a toast to our boys, Chase and Eric,” she starts. Eric groans and Chase holds up his own glass, while his parents laugh from the other end of the table.

“To our boys, Chase and Eric… who are playing for an NHL team and living their dreams, their _pledge_ to each other,” she says, and everyone hoists their drinks high.

“And to them, for finally getting their heads out their butts and locking each other down, because that pining was _so gross_ ,” Mike says. Eric feels like he’s going to die from embarrassment and even Chase flushes a particularly deep shade of red, but everyone laughs and toasts them. “Gross!” Luca yells, making everyone laugh.

“So embarrassing,” Eric whines once they’re back inside, stacking up the dishwasher. Chase is in his stupid cat tank top and shorts, a snapback barely hiding the wild sunbleached curls. He looks fucking amazing and Eric will probably sneak him upstairs once the adults get drunk enough, but for now he goes along for the ride as Chase hip checks him against the counter and leans in to kiss him.

“They’re right, though. Our pining was kind of gross,” he says, long eyelashes distracting Eric for a second. Eric recovers long enough to roll his eyes and shove at Chase.

“I don’t know about you, man, but my pining was non-existent,” he says, brushing off the crumbs struggling to stay on his shirt from dinner. Chase laughs and shakes his head.

“Such a beaut,” he says, kissing him once more before pulling back to fight with the dishwasher over shoving a few last plates in.

Eric just watches him fondly, shaking his head. He’ll never get sick of this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] sooner or later](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037398) by [ofjustimagine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofjustimagine/pseuds/ofjustimagine)




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